A Fortiori
by Venefica Atra
Summary: The Wizarding World has finally acknowledged the return of Voldemort. The school year resumes. War is looming. Quietly smoldering, underneath it all, are the slowly stoking embers of revenge. This is only the first chapter. HD.


Disclaimer: Pete and Repeat are in a boat... I own nothing, the tale was spun by JKR and she owns it all.

Notes: The phrase "a fortiori" literally means "from the stronger" in Latin, it's usually translated as "by stronger reason," "for stronger reason," or "all the more." I like to abuse Latin [badly], I was like this long before HP. This is loosely a post-OotP fic. You probably shouldn't read this if you haven't read all five books, in the event of spoilery.

Thanks: I would like to thank Dawn, ChildOfSwords, Falcon Flight and Kahlia for beta'ing. Kisses for keeping my grammar and punctuation in shape!

Chapter Summary: It's the tail end of the summer. Harry is brooding. Draco is preoccupied. The Hogwarts express has more occupants than usual.

Chapter Notes: This chapter is rated PG.

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**Chapter One : Quiet Reflection**

_"the words of the dead ring in our ears  
but it's only a lie  
the voice in your head brings you to tears  
but it's only a lie,  
yes it's only a lie,  
...isn't it?"_

Summer was once again drawing to a close and the sun set peacefully over Little Whinging, belying the constant furor within Number 4 Privet Drive. This was not unusual to its inhabitants, though extra care was taken not to disturb or draw curious looks from the rest of the neighborhood. Usually.

The front door of Number 4 swung open violently and slammed shut with a loud bang, causing the old gentleman across the street to let loose of his garden hose. He sighed, watching it spray everything but his soapy car.

Harry Potter shoved fists angrily into his pockets and stalked towards, well, towards anywhere but back to Number 4. He'd had enough of the Dursleys for the day and the thought that summer was finally almost over was enough to keep him company. He cheered at the thought and relaxed the angry expression on his face.

The summer had not been kind to Harry, but even so, time hadn't stood still and he'd done a little growing. He was taller, and while still skinny, all the "chores" the Dursleys forced on him had made his muscles long and lean. All the time he liked to spend outdoors had chased any trace of paleness away. 

Unlike summers past, he didn't have a break to look forward to before the start of the school year. It was no mystery why, this was the safest place for him and he at least knew that now, but it didn't make things any easier. He felt the beginnings of anger stir; he forced himself to think about quidditch and breathe slowly. He was getting better at keeping his negative feelings in control. He pushed his anger down deep within himself and exhaled. There was no need to lose control; it wouldn't help him.

Harry found what he was looking for, his favorite tree. He quickly scaled the trunk and perched comfortably on its largest branch. He had post from Ron and Hermione, even if they were heavily censored, he still felt how much they missed and worried about him. They had presents for his sixteenth birthday that they couldn't owl. "You can open them when we get to Hogwarts." Hermione had written. The Burrow wasn't safe; everyone knew how close he was with the Weasleys. They were at headquarters, of course. Harry felt a dull ache, Sirius' family home. It was probably good that he wasn't there. His eyes prickled.

Despite how much it made sense, he hated being cut off from the wizarding world. This time he didn't push his anger away. He didn't like how quiet everything seemed, it was just like last summer but it shouldn't be. They knew this time, everyone knew. He didn't want safety and protection. He wanted information. He wanted...

It was getting dusky. Harry sighed heavily and hopped out of the tree. He must have been brooding for a couple of hours if it was starting to get dark. He'd better get back to the Dursleys. They might think him dead and throw a party.

He took a cursory glance at his reflection while passing a window and reflexively tried to pat his hair into place. There's a small kind of comfort in knowing that some things will never change.

***

Darkness settled over Malfoy Manor, thick and sweeping like the dark black cloaks that used to apparate in and out with a flourish. Impossibly, the manor felt colder, darker, and it was certainly emptier than usual.

The manor and those who dwelled there were carefully investigated all summer. But Lucius was not Voldemort's right hand for nothing, he had been careful, calculating and there was nothing found that indicated the Malfoy's were anything but an old, wealthy wizarding family. Lucius was implicated only because he had been caught and his actions could not be denied.

Narcissa, Draco and the rest of the manor staff however, were free and clear. The ministry left satisfied. Lucius was powerful and heavy-handed, he could have easily hidden his agendas and alliances, as it appeared. The aurors left frustrated, unable to believe what was right in front of their eyes quite as easily. But nothing could be done. "Innocent until proven guilty" also applied to the magical world.

So as the end of summer drew near, the ministry closed their books on the investigation of Malfoy Manor and turned their full attention to the impending war and the Death Eaters already in their charge. Narcissa had never aroused suspicion. She was the perfect picture of a refined wizard's wife, even if she did keep to herself. As for Draco, he was just fifteen, only a child after all.

They were both unmarked.

The heavy double doors of the manor opened quietly; two sets of footsteps clicked to a halt after they were closed behind them. Narcissa placed a delicate hand on her son's shoulder. She felt him tense, then relax slowly. He bowed his head so slightly, Narcissa would not have noticed if she weren't watching him so closely. She knew that was all he would allow and her hand returned to her side.

She watched Draco climb the main staircase until he disappeared. She turned to the doorman, giving him a curt nod to indicate that he should lock up and retire until morning. The doorman bowed his goodnight and left.

There was a lot to do.

***

Draco Malfoy locked his bedroom door and stood for a moment, his hand still against the knob. It had not been an easy day, or summer for that matter. The ministry hounds had been a constant presence, sniffing all over the place. His grip on the knob tightened and his knuckles whitened.

Earlier that summer, he'd helped his mother collapse the wards, only possible if done with magic that had the Malfoy signature, so the intruders could wander around safely. Normally, the manor was protected heavily by magic. Without the wards and special spells, the manor had been quite easy to go through. The ministry should have found that odd. Draco smirked. The idiots.

He collapsed gracefully onto his bed and stared at the expensive chandelier above him. He liked how it reflected points of moonlight in different directions when the moon was full. It was the only reason he kept it, it was a little too flashy, even for him.

He was exhausted, and even if he wouldn't admit it, a bit shaken. Azkaban was no cup of tea, no matter which side of the bars you were facing. His father was heavily guarded and the sheer number of dementors, even at a distance, would rattle anyone. Or almost anyone, Lucius seemed perfectly composed during the visit. He was thinner and a little gaunt, normal Azkaban side effects, but his steel eyes were focused and alert, his voice hard and even.

Draco admired his father more for it. His father's cell, though under close supervision, was far from the rabble of other prisoners. It was also much larger and in better condition. Even under those circumstances, the Malfoy name and his father's hand carried weight. Lucius had played Fudge well.

Narcissa had been flagged by a ministry official for some last minute details in regards to the Manor investigation. Draco had not wanted her to go, but he didn't say as much. It was at that point that Lucius had a very important conversation with his son. It was that conversation that Draco turned over and over in his mind.

He smelled what was clearly strong magic and felt a familiar feeling. A feeling like comfort and caution combined. His mother was reconstructing the wards. He should go help her, but she hadn't asked, so he stayed where he was.

Maybe he was more exhausted from that small bit of...emotion he displayed earlier. He would never have done so in front of his father, but he always felt he had a special bond with his mother, unspoken. He knew his parents loved him in their own way, but displays of affection were not part of the Malfoy home. Being overly emotional was weak and Malfoys were not weak.

His father should not be in Azkaban.

Draco's eyes grew stormy and his lips pressed into a hard line. Until his father returned, and he was sure he would, he was the man of the house. He had responsibilities and a lot to think about. 

***

Harry stood at the other side of the barrier, blinked and tried to look calm and collected. He did this with difficulty. To say that the morning had been chaotic was an understatement. Plus he was more than a little irritated that his barrage of questions during the ride over went largely unanswered.

Thinking the Dursleys were going to drop him off at King's Cross, much like his first year, Harry was still sleeping when a large and somewhat familiar tawny owl pelted repeatedly against his window. Since it had been four in the morning, the Dursleys had woken up and nearly tore him apart about the racket.

Uncle Vernon spent twenty minutes ranting about "vermin-ridden fowl" while Aunt Petunia went to make sure her little Dudders was still sleeping. Harry knew the answer because he could still hear Dudley snoring through Uncle Vernon's sputtering. Hedwig observed the whole incident with her head cocked to one side with one eye opened. By the time Uncle Vernon got to the phrase "your kind" Harry had already opened and read the letter.

Apparently, he was supposed to stay put, Ron's parents were going to pick him up at precisely 10:30am. Harry thought this was a bit ridiculous, but the news cheered up Uncle Vernon who thankfully quit yelling and let Harry be. The rest of the morning passed without incident and the Mr. and Mrs. Weasley arrived by cab and not by a ministry supplied car as Harry expected. Though the cab driver did look a little befuddled.

"Harry, let's get a move on," Arthur said, snapping Harry out of his reverie. "The train leaves in five minutes and Molly and I have an, ah, an appointment." He gave his wife a pointed look.

"Your questions will be answered soon, I'm sure Ron and Hermione can fill in some of the blanks, they're already on the train." Molly hugged him fiercely, "Oh and a late Happy Birthday, you look so grown up. Just like your father."

Harry let his irritation fade away and blushed.

"Thanks." He grinned.

"Harry! Come on! Five minutes!" A familiar voice shouted, Harry saw a familiar redhead waving at him. His grin widened. He waved to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and hurried towards his friend.

Ron hugged Harry as soon as the door slid shut behind him. "Harry! The summer was dull as dirt without you around." 

They quickly realized they were hugging - in public. Harry and Ron broke apart suddenly and coughed. 

"My summer was an utter bore." Harry replied.

"I hate to have to break up this endearing moment," came a familiar snarl, "but if you two would find your seats, the train is about to leave and I don't want to have to pick you two off the floor."

Harry looked up into cold, black eyes.

"Harry! Ron! In here."

Harry looked around and saw Hermione's head peeking out two compartments down. Harry and Ron quickly swept past thick black robes.

"What the hell is Snape doing on the Express?!" Harry asked, sitting next to Ron.

"Several professors are on the train, and a few aurors," Hermione replied in her usual air. "Extra precautions. It's why there's no need for head boy and girl, and prefects compartments this year."

"At least the train's Dementor free, huh, Harry? OW!" Ron rubbed his shin glaring at Hermione.

The train lurched forward and Harry laughed. It felt good to be on the train with his friends. It felt good to be returning to where he felt he most belonged. He would finally get answers to the questions he had brewing all summer. He was looking forward to that the most, even if the answers were not likely to be things he wanted to hear.

***

Draco stuck his head out of his compartment when he heard Snape's reprimanding voice. He was never one to pass up an opportunity to see Snape in action, especially if he was harassing some poor prat.

"Potter. And Weasley." The names were more squeezed from clenched teeth than said. "Poor prat" was too good, gutter rats was more fitting. They come in threes, so Granger must be nearby. He heard her voice come from somewhere behind him. 

He sat back in his seat and slid the compartment door shut. Of course they'd be on the train. It was too much to hope for their deaths by troll or something equally pleasing. His veins throbbed with anger as a familiar voice echoed softly in the back of his mind.

Throats cleared, Draco gave Crabbe and Goyle a look that simply said, "Not now." They resumed stuffing themselves with chocolate frogs. The door slid once again, a tall boy with sandy hair and turquoise eyes slid into the seat next to Draco.

"Draco."

"Blaise."

Before Blaise could shut the door, a flourish of black robes swept into the compartment and promptly settled on Draco's lap. He was not amused.

"Parkinson. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Making myself comfortable." She settled deeper into his lap. Crabbe and Goyle sat and stared. "Besides, someone took my seat." She turned glaring brown eyes to Blaise.

Draco rolled his eyes, shoved her off and neatly arranged his robes. "Blaise, unlike yourself, was invited. Why don't you go find Millicent or do something useful?" Feeling the train move, he turned his attention to the window.

Pansy got to her feet, not quite gracefully, eyes blazing. She was about to say something when-

"Is there a problem?" Asked a dry voice.

"No Professor, she was just leaving." Draco said, a note of finality in his voice. He did not turn from the window.

"Miss Parkinson, I suggest you go take your seat. Now." Snape added.

Draco heard the door slide shut and focused his attention on the passing scenery, the anger he'd experienced earlier still boiling deep within him.

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End Notes: The lyrical snippet from this chapter is from the track "So Strange I Remember You" by the band, Thrice. So ends the first chapter. I know it was all exposition, I decided to try something different instead of just jumping straight into Hogwarts. I have a lot of ideas for this fic, so I hope it was enjoyable and it will pick up now that I've gotten that out of the way. ::shakes paper cup with "reviews please" written on it:: 


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